Last week I managed to reduce my alcohol intake significantly and each day I woke up feeling a little better. Last week I also took a trip to California to see friends and family before starting work here in Nevada. Upon coming home, it was the weekend and just being generally happy to be back home and back where I am starting to feel comfortable, I decided to let myself drink more, and harder alcohol (I have been weening myself slowly with lower and lower alcohol content in what I drink) telling myself it was just for the weekend and I deserved it. Then came Monday, when I had to drop my Fiance off at the airport for a work trip and prepare to – yet again – spend time alone and isolated.
So what did I do? I drank, of course. Now it’s Wednesday and I’m back to feeling that anxiety in the morning, not being able to take a deep breath without my chest feeling funny, and my hands shaking slightly. Needless to say, I’ve only had a few bites of food today and I feel like shit.
Today is a no Whiskey day. I used to be happy holding a bottle of Jameson in my hand at the store, happy to be able to get home and have a few drinks, relax, do the usual around the house. Now every time I reach for a bottle on the shelf and carry it to the check-out, I feel slightly disgusted with myself, almost ashamed, the whole time saying in my head “Fuck, here we go again…” I’m still struggling to get my weight over 105 pounds. I turn 32 in two months and refuse to let this take over another year of my life.
I originally started drinking to forget things, anything that hurt me emotionally as I have a higher physical pain tolerance than most. Now the drinking makes me overthink, makes me lazy and careless, and at times incredibly mean. Who wants to live like that? I know that I don’t, not anymore. It’s opened the doors to too many things, none of which have been good or healthy.
Honestly, I’ll be pretty disappointed in myself if I venture out later and pick up a bottle, but sometimes even the disappointment isn’t enough to stop me. Fingers crossed, I sit here writing and looking at my projects and crafts I work on, realizing I have barely touched them in weeks. Hopefully, if all goes well, I start work in three weeks and will get back to some sort or normalcy and independence. I have to admit, twelve-hour work days are not going to give me enough time to drink, and I’m looking forward to that.